


Damage Report

by universal_reno



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: And really shouldn't have to, Connor can't deal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hacking, Hank is a Good Dad, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Missions Gone Wrong, Panic, Past Rape/Non-con, Poor Connor, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universal_reno/pseuds/universal_reno
Summary: When Connor's solo mission goes horribly wrong it's up to Hank to pick up the pieces





	Damage Report

**Author's Note:**

> *****For the love of God check the tags/warnings*****
> 
> When I said there'd be more Connor whump this really isn't want I had in mind. I usually try to stay away from trigger-y things and stick to fluff or good old fashioned ultraviolence with spies and pirates and shit, but here we are. This fic is messed up. Please don't read it if you think it'll bother you.

Hank had known leaving Connor alone would prove to be a mistake from the moment he decided to go away for the weekend. But a buddy from his days on the narcotics taskforce had proposed a reunion of sorts for the old timers and Hank knew it might be his last opportunity to catch up with some of them. Police work didn’t exactly encourage a healthy lifestyle, and none of them were getting any younger. Besides, Connor was effectively a combat model. Maybe his sense of self preservation had been a little screwy since he’d become a deviant, but the baseline programming was still there and that really should have been enough to keep him out of harm’s way for 48 lousy hours.

Unfortunately Connor’s baseline programming was matched with all of eight months of life experience and the emotional instability of a human teenager. If Hank was perfectly honest he’d been downright insufferable at times as he tried to sort out this whole newfound ‘feelings’ and ‘free will’ thing. It didn’t help that he could die for real now. The thought that a single screw up could be as fatal for Connor as it was for him frankly scared the shit out of Hank. Almost as much as it did to find the kid curled up unresponsive on his doorstep when he returned home.

“Connor? Connor! What the fuck, kid?” Hank crouched in front of where the android had pressed himself as close against the side of the house as he could manage, which at least left him more or less out of the rain. Emphasis on the less. A steady stream of icy water dripped off the awning and down the back of Hank’s shirt as he checked for any obvious damage. Connor was barefoot and the rest of his clothes were a crumpled mess, but at least there weren’t any bullet holes. The LED on his temple glowed a soft blue which in Hank’s experience was usually a good sign, but he remained deathly still.

“Hey, wake up you fucking squatter! You’re blocking the door, and not all of us are immune to the cold.” _Please just be in sleep mode._ He grabbed Connor by the shoulder and shook him. Sleep mode was eerie at the best of times. Made him stop breathing for one thing, which Hank knew wasn’t a necessary function for androids, but still. After a moment in which Hank himself stopped breathing Connor’s eyes blinked open.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor sounded unsure, confused. Hank could never tell anymore whether things like that were in his original programming or the result of deviancy.

“It’s my house. Who else were you expecting?” Hank stood and held out a hand which Connor immediately took and allowed himself to be helped up. He seemed dazed and continued to lean on Hank while he unlocked the door and pulled the both of them inside to stand dripping in the entryway.

As soon as the door closed Sumo came barreling towards them but stopped short. He nuzzled against Hank’s free hand, then looked up at Connor and whined. Hank gave him a quick scratch behind the ears before shooing him gently away.

“You know, if you were gonna stay here while you looked after my dog you could’ve stayed _inside_ the house.”

Hank hung up his own coat and then took Connor’s, which had long since ceased to do any good. He was soaked through and freezing, though he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. _He’s got no reason to be bothered by it_ Hank reminded himself. But the line between human and machine was becoming damn near impossible to keep straight, at least where Connor was concerned.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

Connor remained silent for a moment. His eyes had that weird glassy look they got when he was in standby mode or running a diagnostic.

“I... I’m unsure. I’m attempting to reconstruct the memory sequence now, but there’s corruption from timestamp 23:15:46 on April 4, 2039. 

“You were out there a whole day?” Hank didn’t bother trying to hide the alarm in his voice.  Connor may have been largely unaffected by the elements, but laying around like a forgotten delivery for almost 24 hours wasn’t normal behavior.

Once again Connor made no response. Hank gave a sigh of worried irritation and steered him through to the bathroom. If he wasn’t going to look after himself at least he could keep him from dripping all over the carpet. He moved to unbutton Connor’s shirt but paused when he noticed several of the buttons were missing and a couple of the others had been done up wrong. That wasn’t like Connor either. As far as Hank knew his programming didn’t even allow for that sort of careless little error. Cold tendrils of dread began to snake their way from the pit of his stomach. 

“Did somebody hurt you?” He reached for the shirt again and undid the first of the remaining buttons. 

Connor’s hand shot up in a second and gripped his wrist so tight it hurt. “Please don’t.”

The glassy look was gone and his eyes locked focus with Hank’s. He looked like a trapped animal. 

Hank released the shirt and moved back as far as Connor’s grip on him would allow, palms up to reassure him he wasn’t about to try anything. As quick as he’d grabbed him Connor’s hand dropped back to his side.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I don’t know what came over me.”

Connor wasn’t capable of trembling, but the frantic pulsing of his LED between yellow and red was nearly the same thing. The second Hank had touched him he’d been back in the club where he’d been sent the day before on the trail of a hitman in the employ of a major red ice distributor. It’d been someone else touching him then, tearing at his clothes and jamming a data drive into the port behind his ear. His hand went to the spot now and held there. A quick self diagnostic reported the port had ceased to function after a power spike at 23:17:03 the previous day.

“I was hacked.” When the realization hit him Connor slid down the wall to sit wedged in the corner by the tub with his knees drawn up to his chest. It’d happened again. Just like with Amanda. How could he claim to be his own master when others could access his mind at will? How could he even trust himself? “They’re onto us now. And there’s something else. I… Reconstructing.”

Connor’s eyes closed this time, frustrated tears clinging to the lashes. Hank rubbed his temples to stave of the headache he figured was immanent. He was way too sober to deal with having a crying amnesiac android detective in his bathroom. He was also worried as hell. He went to Connor’s side but didn’t try to touch him again. 

“It’s gonna be alright, kid. You need me to call someone?” He was already running through a mental list of anyone who might be able to help with the situation now that all the CyberLife repair shops had closed. There was a nominally reformed hacker who lived not too far away. But maybe the best bet would be one of Markus’s people.

“Reconstructing.” Connor curled up even tighter. The LED was steady scarlet.

“Well stop doing that and listen to me! We can get you some help.” Hank found he couldn’t shake the memory of the deviant from Ortiz’s apartment smashing its head against the interrogation room desk in an effort to beat its own brains out.

“Reconstructing.”

Five minutes earlier Connor had been freezing, but now Hank could feel the heat radiating off him. If he didn’t self-destruct from the stress he was going to burn out something important.

“Recon…”

“Connor!” Hank slapped him hard across the face. Within seconds a blue stain that looked way too much like human bruising spread across his cheek, but it had the desired effect. Connor’s head snapped up, whatever loop he’d been stuck in now broken. 

“They used me. Like they did with that Traci at the brothel.” Connor’s voice sounded small, confused and afraid. “Why would they? My model was never designed for that.”

“Oh kid… Fucking Christ...” Hank was so angry he felt sick. He’d track down whoever did this, and when he did he’d make them wish the death penalty was still an option. But for now the most important thing was Connor. He held his arms open in silent invitation and Connor practically lunged at him. He pressed his face against Hank’s chest and clung to him like he was drowning. When it seemed pretty clear he wasn’t going to be spooked by being touched again Hank returned the hug. He combed his fingers through Connor’s wet hair until he settled, LED blue with only the occasional flicker of yellow.

“Did they hurt you? Anything that needs to be fixed tonight?” Or even anything that could be fixed that night. Hank knew the worst of it was something Connor would have to work through for himself, but at least he could make sure he wasn’t in any physical danger.

“Diagnostics report non-critical damage to biocomponents #k4529 and #c7334. #v6721 is inoperable but poses no immanent risk of shutdown.” It was easier to talk like that. Automatic. A fair amount of his processing power was still being used up by the analysis and reanalysis of the reconstructed memory sequence, trying to sort everything out and slot the data the hacker had tried to overwrite in between what he’d missed. The malware he’d used was inelegant and not terribly effective, but it still left Connor feeling like part of his consciousness had been ripped away.   

“Well there’s that at least.” Hank had no idea which parts of Connor those numbers referred to, and under the circumstances he wasn’t sure he wanted to. If Connor wasn’t ready to talk about it he didn’t want to push him. But there were still procedures that needed to be followed if they wanted to catch the sick fucks who’d done this.

“Did you get a positive ID on the bastards that did this to you?” No way was he going to ask Connor to analyze DNA evidence in a case where he was also the victim. It didn’t matter if he was the one best suited for the job. Someone would have to, though.

“No. I’ll run the samples now.” Before Hank could stop him Connor pressed one finger against his tongue. He hadn’t even noticed the blood under his nails until now. Focusing on one of the fundamental tasks he’d been designed for was calming, even more so because Hank kept a reassuring hand on his shoulder while he worked.

“Collins, Aaron James. DOB 06.23.2002. Former infosec officer at Tai Yong Medical’s US branch. Warrant issued September 2, 2035 on charges of corporate espionage and unauthorized access to a computer network. He’s our hacker.”

Connor’s unnatural calm was nearly as worrying as his earlier panic, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Petrov, Sergei. DOB 02.27.2010. Former FSB operator turned security contractor. Known associate of the Gorv-Zhilin Syndicate. Wanted by INTERPOL for narcotics trafficking, extortion, kidnapping, and nine counts of murder. He’s our hitman, and the one I was sent to locate.” 

“That’s my boy.” Hank gave Connor’s shoulder a little squeeze. “We’ll find them. I swear.” 

Connor nodded, but didn’t meet Hank’s eyes. “There was a third. The one who… I wasn’t able to obtain a blood sample, but there should still be sufficient DNA traces to make an identification.”

“Connor, no. Don’t do that to yourself. I’ll call someone down from the station. They’re trained to deal with cases like this.”

Connor shook his head. “Please Lieutenant. I’d prefer to handle this myself. I’m the most efficient piece of DNA analysis equipment at the department’s disposal.” Not to mention he could feel his stress response kicking in at the thought of anyone else touching him right now.

He wasn’t experienced enough at having emotions to sort them all out yet, but one of his dictionary sub-routines automatically analyzed the particular mix of fear and embarrassment he was experiencing and supplied ‘shame’ which seemed to be a good fit even if he couldn’t come up with any logical explanation for what he was ashamed of. The people who’d attacked him had been the ones to violate the law and social norms, but none the less he was the one who wanted to hide away somewhere where people’s hands and eyes couldn’t reach him.

“You’re not a piece of equipment and you know it.” Hank held him for a second longer before he got up and went out into the hallway to give him some privacy. “You need anything you just yell, okay?”

Connor nodded and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath before he slid his jeans down over his hips. It was a purely learned response, but he’d try damn near anything to stay calm. This was supposed to be easy and clinical, but he had all he could do to touch the sticky patch on the inside of his thigh long enough to collect a sample. Why was this the part bothered him so much? If anything it was the hacking he should be concerned about, but as awful as that made him feel the knowledge that he’d been used as an object again was a thousand times worse. He pressed his finger to his tongue. If he’d been human he suspected he would have been sick.

“Ivanov, Vasili. DOB 01.19.2015. Narcotics trafficker. Son-in-law of Andrei Zhilin. Suspected head of operations for the Gorv-Zhilin Syndicate in Chicago and Detroit.”

Connor’s voice was so strained that he wasn’t sure Hank would even be able to understand him from where he knew he was standing immediately outside the door. Not that it mattered much. As he turned the shower on and cranked the temperature up as high as it would go he was also logging a report of the whole incident in the precinct database. Now everyone would know. He couldn’t stop himself from picturing the silent pity in Chris’s eyes, or how Fowler would remain strictly professional despite knowing that some narco had made a bitch out of one of his officers. Gavin’s reaction didn’t even bear thinking about.

As soon as he stepped under the hot water an assortment of warnings flashed across his HUD.

Temperature out of range.

Estimated time to emergency shutdown 8 minutes, 23.7 seconds

Immanent damage to biocomponents #t9327, #t4690, #c5216…

He blinked the warnings away before the list had a chance to scroll any longer and focused on scrubbing his skin raw. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but the knowledge that he was being damaged caused negative feedback that was designed to be difficult to ignore. He ignored it anyway and stayed under the water until be began to feel subsystems shutting down in an effort to limit excess heat production. He turned the water off just as his optical sensors cut out, then sank to his knees in the tub.

Hank’s fingers tightened on the doorknob when he heard Connor sobbing. He knew he needed privacy, but he sounded so utterly broken. He knocked once by way of warning before he went in. Connor was curled up in the bath, large patches of silvery blue burns spread across his skin. Hank swore under his breath, then aloud for good measure.

“Connor, what the fuck did you do?!”

“Hank? I can’t see. I can’t… It’s too hot and I don’t know what to do. I shouldn’t have…” A warning about excessive stress levels popped up in the blackness and held steady at 97% next to the warning about overheating and just above a running tally of damage that he couldn’t be bothered to dismiss anymore.

“Damn right you shouldn’t have.” Hank was already turning the faucet on cold and splashing water on the burns.

“I’m sorry. It’ll heal itself, I promise. Just need to cool down.”

“Nothing to apologize for. At least not to me.” He grabbed a towel and soaked it in cold water while the bath filled up, then wrung the excess out over Connor’s exposed skin. As promised the areas that were submerged were already starting to lose the silvery sheen and blend back into the undamaged parts. Connor laid back in the water and didn’t try to move as it began to cover his face. Hank resisted the urge to drag him up, knowing that as weird as it looked it was probably good for him, or at least wasn’t harmful.

Slowly but surely Connor began to relax. He opened his eyes and watched the colorful static and the distortion of the light through the water as his optical system rebooted. When most of the warnings had cleared he forced himself to sit up.

“I’m sorry” he repeated, letting his cheek rest against the side of the bath.

Hank didn’t respond, just smoothed wet hair back from his face.

“You want to rest for awhile?” he finally asked.

Connor nodded, eyes already slipping closed as a veritable army of failsafes pushed him toward sleep mode so more power could be diverted to repairs.

“C’mon then. You can stay here tonight. 

Hank grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped Connor up once he managed to get out of the bath. The guest room was only next door, but the poor kid appeared to fall into sleep mode twice on the way there. Once he was finally in bed though he forced himself to keep his eyes open while Hank pulled a blanket over him and set to work drying his hair.

“Thanks” he said quietly. He didn’t want to sleep. As long as he was awake he knew Hank was there and as long as Hank was there he knew he was safe. But he didn’t have much choice in the matter. “Stay with me please? Just for a little while?” If he hadn’t been so worn down he’d have winced at how pathetic he sounded.

“Of course, son.” Hank took Connor’s hand and rubbed his thumb across the unnaturally smooth skin of his knuckles. He sounded kind but sad. Connor didn’t really understand what he was sad about, but he lost the fight against his repair systems before he could ask and dropped into sleep mode.

Hank settled down to sit on the mattress beside him, still keeping hold of his hand. He was pretty sure Connor couldn’t have nightmares, but was willing to stay there the rest of the night anyway. There would be more than enough to deal with in the morning, and if there was any chance his presence would help the poor kid rest a little easier he’d consider it time well spent.


End file.
